Hair Shirts and Horcruxes
by shosier
Summary: Almost a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, George was surprised when his wife Annie told him Harry Potter was at their door, asking to speak with him. When will the Chosen One realize everything isn't his fault? George is about to explain it to him.


Author's Note: I think Harry has a tendency to blame himself for just about everything that goes wrong in the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He seems the kind of fellow who carries around a lot of guilt over things he really should realize are beyond his control. I figured that sooner or later, there would be some sort of attempt at reckoning between him and George. This was left out of my original story because it didn't really further the plot, but I enjoyed it all the same, and hope you do, too. This is a one-shot companion piece to my longer story, _George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography,_ which can be accessed from my profile page. :)

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_Hair Shirts and Horcruxes_

_April 4, 1999_

Annie sat at the table sipping a cup of tea, listening to the washing machine hum loudly as the load of clothes spun within. The twins were asleep upstairs, and George was in his workshop below, puttering about. Small, muffled explosions had punctuated the afternoon while he had worked, and a weak but steady stream of smoke curled out from one of the ground-level windows. The house was otherwise quiet.

She was startled by an unexpected knock at the door. She dashed over, wondering who would come visiting to Mole Hill that felt the need to knock.

A further surprise greeted her when she opened the door. "Harry?"

"Er, hi, Annie. Um, I was wondering… is George in? I went to the shop first, and they told me he might be here," Harry stammered uncomfortably.

"Come in, of course," she replied, stepping aside for him to enter. "Yes, he's here. I'll get him for you, just have a seat."

Harry came inside and stood awkwardly by the sofa. Annie poked her head in the door that led downstairs and called for George to come up, letting him know he had a visitor.

"Who is it?" he called up from the bottom of the stairs. His face had a few comical streaks of greenish-purple soot across his brow, making her giggle.

"Clean yourself off and come see Harry. He wants a word with you."

"Harry?" he mouthed, looking puzzled. He shrugged and furrowed his brow, silently asking her what it was she thought he wanted.

Annie gave a tiny shrug and shook her head slightly in response. She was as baffled as he was, at this point.

"Tell him I'll be up in a sec," he replied loudly, she assumed for Harry's benefit, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Annie turned back to Harry. "Can I get you anything?" she offered politely.

"Er, no, thanks. I'm fine," he replied, squirming a bit.

_Whatever it is, it's bound to be unpleasant_, Annie mused. Confident George would tell her all she needed to know later, she smiled reassuringly at Harry. A few moments later, she could hear George stomping up the stairs. "I'll just leave you to it, then," she offered quietly to the preoccupied young fellow.

"I'll be out hanging the wash, love," she said to George as she left the room.

"I'll keep an ear out for the boys," he assured her. Turning toward Harry, he gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa. "What brings you 'round, mate?" he asked as he sunk into the neighboring chair.

"I… I meant to come… sooner than this, actually," Harry stammered.

Immediately, George was on his guard. Whatever was making Harry so uncomfortable was likely to make him so, as well. "Okay…"

Harry took a deep sigh, and hung his head. "I just wanted you to know… all of you… your whole family, I mean… but you especially…."

George sat silently, at an utter loss to comprehend what was so difficult for Harry to say.

"I just need to tell you… I'm sorry."

George scrambled to think of what Harry could possibly be referring to. Had something happened between him and Ginny? Were they on the outs once again? If so, why the hell would he need to apologize to her brother?

"Sorry for what?" he asked with trepidation. He genuinely liked Ron's best friend and Ginny's love interest, and wasn't sure he wanted to hear whatever confession seemed to be imminent.

Harry finally looked him in the eye. "For what happened. To you."

George's brow furrowed, thrown for a loop. "To _me_?"

"Last year," Harry mumbled patiently.

_Last year? _He hadn't seen Harry at all last year. At least until…

Harry hung his head once more as he saw the look of understanding dawn on George's face. "It was my fault. All of it. If I hadn't been distracted by the Hallows…. If I had just paid attention to Dumbledore…. And all of you paid the price for my stupidity."

George's mind reeled. Usually, whenever the events he suspected Harry was referring to were brought to mind, George would begin to sink into a dark place. But today – this moment, at least – felt different. The darkness wasn't closing in, pulling him downward. Instead, it was more like… a glowing, growing heat inside him - as if a fuse had been lit. "Are you seriously trying to tell me you think…"

"I'm telling you I _know_ what I did – I _know_ that I'm responsible!" Harry cried, cutting in. "I _know_ how my actions led to them all getting killed. And I'm sorry. George, I'm so sorry!"

George felt his pulse begin to race, felt the fury of it spreading warmly through his limbs. "You fucking idiot," he mumbled.

"I know…" Harry moaned, wallowing in his misery.

"No! You don't! You really are a piece of work, you know that?" George hissed.

"Trust me, I know…." Harry winced, bracing for George's outpouring of angry grief that he seemed to think was certain to follow.

"Shut up and listen to me, you _arrogant_ little prick!" George snarled.

"Sorry?" The stunned look on Harry's face told George how unexpected his reaction to the apology was.

"Let me just get this straight. You, Harry Potter, are taking responsibility for the death of my twin brother?"

"It _was_ my fault, George," he argued. "Everyone was there that night because of me." A tortured, angst-ridden look took hold of Harry's face, begging to be smacked off.

George stood up, unable to contain the anger boiling up within him in any other manner. He began to pace in front of the hearth, clenching his fists, reminding himself not to wake the sleeping twins by screaming at the unmitigated idiot sitting on his sofa.

"Everyone there was fighting for their own reasons, not for _you_!" George whispered in a barely restrained voice. "And I bloody guarantee you, every _Weasley_ would have been there, even if your sorry ass had been killed when you were a baby! Every one of us would have been there, taking a stand against evil and fighting for what we believe in, no matter what!"

"But none of you would have been there that night if I hadn't been so thick! If I had just figured it all out sooner…" Harry protested.

"What… then you could have committed suicide right off, destroyed that nasty bit of horcrux inside you and saved us all the trouble? That's utter bullshit, Harry. Not even you could be that stupid."

Harry stood now as well, glaring at George angrily. "Well, actually, that is sort of what I did do, when you think about it," he snapped.

George snorted at his friend's umbrage. "Fred always swore you were a nutter," he muttered. Taking a few deep breaths and swallowing the worst of his anger, he summoned a calmer voice from somewhere inside himself.

"Look, Harry, mate – you're a decent fellow and I consider you a friend. Hell, I'll even welcome you into the family as a brother when the time comes. But you can be a helluva self-absorbed prat sometimes."

"Self-absorbed?!" Harry cried incredulously, growing increasingly defensive at George's less-than-understanding attitude.

George chuckled in response. "Your reaction proves my point. Right now I can see you're thinking, 'How the hell can someone as self-sacrificing as me be self-absorbed,' right? I mean, you _literally_ gave your life for the cause, for Merlin's sake, as you so patiently just pointed out. You're a hero. A savior."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"And Harry, I grant you every part of that," George continued, "but it doesn't mean your head isn't fully up your own ass."

"But…" Harry sputtered.

George cut him off before he could say anything else more infuriating. "With or without you, everything Dumbledore said about the power of love being the only true weapon against evil like You-Know-Who was right. With or without you, I would have been there at Hogwarts, or wherever the battle would have been, putting my life on the line to defend my family; to protect Annie, and my unborn half-blood children," he said, stabbing his finger toward the nursery door upstairs. "And if I was there, I assure you _nothing_ would have kept Fred away. So by your stupid logic, I am as responsible for Fred's death as you seem to think you are."

"That's insane," Harry snapped.

"Well stated, for a loon," George retorted. "Harry, I was with Fred for the entire year you and Ron and Hermione were gone. I reckon I come a bit closer than you to understanding his state of mind leading up to the battle. And it may apparently surprise you to learn that neither of us really gave a shit whether you were there or not. Everything was coming to a head anyway – you just happened to turn up in the right place at the right time, probably due to that freakish string of good luck that seems to follow you around."

"_I_ made the decision to go to Hogwarts, fully knowing it might draw Voldemort," Harry insisted. "It was _my_ stupid decision to put everyone there in danger...."

"Because they were all so safe where they were before you got there, with Snape as Headmaster and You-Know-Who pulling the Carrows' strings!" George argued. "And you really should have known Neville and Ginny had been fomenting student rebellion all year long without you. Should have expected them to alert the DA with the Hermione's coins."

That made him stumble. "No... I mean, maybe, yes, I should have thought it through a bit more," Harry stammered.

"You still don't seem to get it! You, the Great Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, are not the center of the universe, despite what you might think to the contrary. You are neither all-knowing, nor all-powerful, and no one reasonably expects you to be so, except yourself for some reason. Only the most conceited, ignorant asshole thinks _everything is his fault!_

"I've got news for you, Harry: shit happens. And you are not God. Get over it, all ready."

Harry huffed in frustration, screwing his mouth into a grimace. "I'm just trying to say I'm sorry…" he began again.

"Enough, already!" George shouted, then hushed himself immediately. He held up his hand, commanding Harry's silence, while he listened for evidence he had woken his sleeping sons. After several moments of silence, he continued in a much quieter tone. "I will accept your 'sorry' as a condolence; even a commiseration. I miss the hell out of him, too. But fair warning to you: I will punch you in the face if you ever try to take the blame for it again."

Harry blew an angry, frustrated sigh. "Fine. I've said what I came here to say."

"All right, then," George said tersely, flopping into a chair. "End of discussion."

An awkward silence descended upon them. Harry's hands were fists clenched at his sides, and he was staring at the floor. George suddenly noticed his own fingers were drumming on the arm of the chair, and halted them.

"Want a slice of pie?" he asked him.

Harry swallowed, then looked up at him. "What kind?"

"Apple, I think," George said. "Annie made it this morning."

"Yeah, all right," Harry replied.


End file.
